Triggers
by ProfessorPing
Summary: After The Fall, John seemingly disappears without a trace only to be found three years later. Sherlock knows the capabilities of the mind better than any man, but can he save a man from his own mind? Sherlock/John
1. Prologue

It really has been AGES since I wrote anything. Let's just hope my enthusiasm for this story lasts. Reviews are always helpful in this regard. If you do like or would like to give some constructive criticism, please consider reviewing this story. It really does help.

Summary: After The Fall, John seemingly disappears without a trace only to be found three years later. Sherlock knows the capabilities of the mind better than any man, but can he save a man from his own mind?

**Triggers**

Prologue

In a room few can find, a darkened room with seemingly no doors and windows, a wall glows with the harsh light of many computer screens.

Each one displays the many crowded streets, the tall buildings, the back alley ways, the history, the laughter, the anger, and then sum that make up the city of London. Some of the cameras periodically move and sweep the area, collecting more data for the viewers of these secret screens.

If one were to pay very close attention, they would notice something, ever so slightly amiss. If someone were to pay extra special attention, they would notice a figure frequenting the screens.

This man, not too particularly tall, with short blonde hand, a black coat, and what appeared to be a slight limp, would occasional appear on one screen and when that camera could no longer fix it's view on him, another would move in to fill the gap. No one camera could follow him, but a series a cameras did the trick and so every step that was taken was monitored.

The behavior of keeping a camera on this particular man was so for 6 months and 2 days.

On May 23 at precisely 20:00 hour and 3 minutes, the man stood on the side of the street, a parcel in his one hand. He waited for the light to change, giving him clearance to cross. It was at this exact moment, that one of the screens became blue, the words "Transmission Lost" came in substitution of the cameras view.

Seconds later, another screen did the same.

Then another.

And another.

In total, 27 screens blinked out and turned blue that night.

All of them seemed to be cameras of a particular three square block radius of one spot in London.

Within 23 minutes the bug that had caused the problem had been corrected and the cameras were back online.

The police reported three acts of vandalism and 2 bar scuffles, but nothing else out of the ordinary took place that night.

* * *

"Mycroft"

A man put his face into his hands and began to rub, trying to maybe to rid himself of just a small amount of frustration and anger that was welling up inside him. The man who stood across from him, however, was silent. Not an ounce of emotion broke through his stone features.

The man sitting at the desk rung his hand through his hair and looked at the tall, imposing figure.

"I don't know what you want me to tell you, Mycroft. If you're men can't find him, what do you expect my people to do?"

The tall man look unimpressed and his tone was placid when he spoke. "I don't expect your men to do anything, Lestrade, they're not nearly component enough."

Lestrade narrowed his brows and looked at the man known as Mycroft pointedly.

"I expect you, Lestrade, to help me."

"Look, John is a good friend of mine and, contrary to popular believe, no one here has any hard feelings towards him. You tell me to and I'll have a good chunk of the police force out looking for him and..."

"No." Mycroft abruptly cut in. "No, I don't want any form of extra public attention on this. This needs to be done discreetly. I need you, Lestrade, JUST you."

Lestrade sighed heavily and looked up at him, his brows relaxing into a sad expression. "What can I do?"

"Just be available. You and him are friends, there is a possibility that he might try and contact you."

"And Mrs. Hudson? Molly? The people at the hospital John works for?"

"I've already spoken to Mrs. Hudson when I made the arrangements for the flat. I'll need you to personally inform the others to keep themselves just as available. Now, if you'll excuse me."

As Mycroft turned to leave, Lestrade stood up to see him out. "Mycroft, wait!"

Myrcroft turned to look at him as Lestrade stood with him at the office door. "What do you think we're dealing with?"

"What do you think we are dealing with?" Mycroft returned the question.

"If I were to guess, I'd say a grudge. Sherlock..." Lestrade dipped his head away for a moment, looking suddenly unsure of his wording.

"Go on, Lestrade." Mycroft implored in a rather exhausted sort of tone.

Lestrade looked at him straight on. "Sherlock had a lot of enemies. I wouldn't be surprised if someone thought that Sherlocks blood wasn't enough...but..."

"But who could have the capability to hack our network?" Mycroft finished for him. Lestrade said nothing, waiting for Mycroft to answer the question. "That does narrow down the playing field, doesn't it?" he retorted with a smug smile

"We carted him off, Mycroft. We BOTH looked at the body. There's no way it could be..."

"I never said it was." Mycroft interjected. When Lestrade said nothing Mycroft looked mockingly disappointed. "Come now, Lestrade, isn't it obvious? My God, how did Sherlock work with you."

"Mycroft..."

"Fine, I'll be plain. Morriarity built a legacy. A network, a clientele list, that was more expansive than our wildest dreams. When a spider dies, if the web still remains, flies do get caught in it, don't they?"

With this Mycroft opened the door and left, walking into the hustle and bustle of Scotland Yard before disappearing around the corner as Lestrade leaned against the doorframe of his office in silent frustration.


	2. Chapter 1

Doing back to back updates so as to get this ball rolling. The next update should be out in about two days (work pending). As always, if you like the story and/or want to give constructive crits, please send a review my way. They are very helpful.

Also, I apologize for the deleting and messing around of the chapters. It's been ages since I used this site and I need to get the hang of it again.

Summary: After The Fall, John seemingly disappears without a trace only to be found three years later. Sherlock knows the capabilities of the mind better than any man, but can he save a man from his own mind?

**Triggers**

Chapter 1 

The days ticked by like seconds on a clock hand. Soon the months felt all too similar. And, within the blink of an eye three years had passed. Time heals all wounds and the wounds left by the death of Sherlock Holmes were all but healed to a sad ache.

John was another matter.

While not everyone could say with honesty that they liked Mr. Holmes, the same thing could not be said about Doctor Watson. He was kind, patient, and very loyal. The gaps that were left in the intelligent department of Scotland Yard were wide after Sherlock's death. The gaps left in the hearts of many by Sherlock and, especially, Johns absence were just as wide. Of course, the most difficult part to coup with was the idea of never knowing. Johns disappearance left everyone with the horrifying question of "What happened?" Was he killed? Is he still alive? Is he being tortured? Sherlock had so many enemies, what if John got caught up in it all?

On April 1st, the answer came.

* * *

"Sorry, you have a what?" The constable pressed his phone to one ear and used a finger to plug up the other so as to hear better. The office was small and even with the only handlful of officers, the noise of their morning chatter was enough to make it hard for a person to have a telephone conversation. The constable nodded and ended the call. He grabbed his hat and coat and made his way to the door, calling the officers attention to him.

"Okay everybody, listen up." the other officers stopped their morning gossip. "Ben, you're with me, we got a call from Mrs. Welsh. Apparently she was driving into town and found a man collapsed on the side of the road. Probably some drunk, but an ambulance is on the way just to be sure. We'll call if we need backup."

The man known as Ben, grabbed his hat and coat and made his way out the door.

* * *

"Lestrade!" Donovan made her way quickly into the office of Detetive Inspector Lestrade. "Lestrade!"

"Donovan, can it wait?" asked as he looked up from gathered a folder full of papers and making his way towards the door. "I have the murder suspect from..."

Donovan made her way between him and the door. "You might want to take the call on line 2 first."

Lestrade made a face, but then back tracked to snatch the phone off it's receiver and press the button blinking "line 2"

"Detective Inspector Lestrade speaking."

"Hello, Detective Inspector, my name is Inspector Wright from Sanford. We have here a Missing Persons report for a Doctor John H. Watson that we would be happy to help you with..."

* * *

Before Lestrade could have time to finish his work and begin to make the drive down to Sanford, he received a text.

He's been transferred to St. Bartholomew's

MH

Lestrade pulled the car out and made his way towards the hospital. "He's been transferred." he thought. "More like _I_ transferred him..." The Detective Inspector wasn't sure HOW he did it, but he was glad he did it. Meant less of a drive for him.

Molly, though typically found in the morgue, made her way down the hall of the hospital wing. She had gotten the text from Lestrade. She turned a corner, excused herself for running into a passing nurse, and began to exam the labels on the doors. It took her a moment to realize the obvious; the one with the two security guards place outside of the door was probably his room. Sure enough, his name was on the door and the guards looked at her.

"Sorry ma'am. No visitors."

"But...the..." she began to stutter, but soon collected herself. "Detective Inspector Lestrade called for me."

The guards looked at each other before one popped his head into the room and called for the D.I. A few words later and Molly was granted access.

In three years you'd suspect that much can change about a person, but John looked very much the same.

The only thing that Molly noticed about his physical appears was that he appeared to be much more fit. His arms looked more toned and defined then when she had last seen him. Molly tried to shake this away. More likely she had never really took the time to notice Johns physical appearance and didn't see how fit he was. He was always running around with Sherlock after all and those heavy coats and sweaters could have just hidden these features.

But the nagging idea that he was far more fit then he was wouldn't leave her and as she stared at him in thought she felt startled when Lestrade gently tapped her shoulder. She jumped back and then grabbed her chest to stop her racing heart.

"You okay?" Lestrade asked.

She smiled and for the first time noticed Mycroft in the corner. She nodded to him and then turned to Lestrade "I'm fine, thank you. Is Mrs. Hudson on her way?"

"She's stuck in traffic and probably having a fit about it." Lestrade said with a chuckle. The two then walked up to Doctor Watson's bed.

"Where was he?" Molly asked after a quiet moment.

"He was found unconscience up in Sanford. A woman found him on the side of the road." Lestrade said as he tried his best to sound optimistic.

Molly did a quick scan of him and found, except for a few cuts and bruises, that he seemed perfectly fine.

"It doesn't look like he was hit in the head..."

"If you're looking for head trauma, you won't find it." Mycroft finally spoke up from his corner.

"Was he drugged?" Molly offered.

"Test have confirmed that except for a light dosing of chloroform, there are no drugs in his system." Molly went to interjected, but Mycroft continued. "And before you ask, or imply anything to contrary, we were VERY through."

"The problem is..." Lestrade cut in, giving Mycroft a look for his rudeness toward Molly "He was found at around 6am this morning. The effects of the chloroform would have worn off hours ago. So with no head trauma, no head issues in general, and no drugging...what exactly is keeping him asleep?"

A silence set on the room for a few moments as each tried to think of possible solutions to the question when the sound of an aged woman echoed outside the door.

"Young man, if you don't let me through this door THIS INSTANT, so help me I will throw you out of my way and..."

Before she could continue and find herself arrested, Lestrade bolted for the door and hurried her past the amused officers. She immediately burst into tears at the sight of John and ran to his side.

"My poor John, what did they do to you?" She began to pet his head affectionately as Lestrade grabbed her a chair and pulled it along side his bed. Molly wrapped an arm around her and gave her a sqweeze. She smiled at her and then went back to attending to Johns hair.

"They?" said Mycroft "Who do you assume did this to him, Mrs. Hudson?"

"Oh any number of people you've made enemies with, I'm sure!" she said with a bit of ice that was rather unexpected. She turned back to John and immediately her face melted. "My poor John, where did you go, sweety? I would have let you stay at the flat. I even kept it tidy for you. No fingers in the fridge or anything..." and with this her eyes filled with tears and she cried again. Molly rubbed her arms and held her as she wept.

Mycroft made his way out of the room without a word, not enjoying the sound of a whimper old woman, and Lestrade followed him out.

Once outside, the two talked.

"Keep the guards posted by the door." Mycroft demanded

"Sure, but you think someone will make a move here?" Lestrade, taking a nicotine patch and unwrapping it.

"Doubtful, but I don't want to take any chances." Mycroft responded as he watch Lestrade unbutton his shirt to to expose his arm.

"I know this sounds dumb..." Lestrade waited a moment for Mycroft to make some remark at this statement, but then again Mycroft was a lot different from his brother. When Mycroft simply waited for him to continue, he did, placing the patch on his arm as he spoke "...but has anyone tried just shaking him awake?"

"Smelling salts are a little more dignified means of achieving that goal, but yes, we have tried to force him awake." Mycroft explained as he took out his phone and began to look through his messages.

Lestrade was silent for a moment before pulling out his phone. It was a little after 7pm. "I'm going to head to Sanford as soon as I can. I want to see if I can find anything myself."

"Can you spare that kind of police time?" Mycroft seemed to be only partially paying attention.

"I'll be doing it on my own time, thanks for asking Mycroft." Lestrade added before walking away.

"You know, you can always ask for my help." Mycroft called out and Lestrade stopped and turned back, actually surprised by his offer of assistance. Mycroft put away his phone and walked to Lestrade side and the two began to walk out of the building. "I've taken the liberty to having my own team go down to investigate the area, and since you've taken an eager interest in this mans case, I'll assign you to lead the team."

"But how..." Lestrade began as Mycroft waved a hand at him.

"I've made a few calls before we arrived. Scotland Yard can do without you for a week or two while you find out what you can."

Mycroft seemed uninterested as Lestrade smiled on his way to his car.

"And here I thought you didn't care."

At this Mycroft stopped and looked at Lestrade hard in the eyes. "Let me be understood. Sentimentality has nothing to do with this..."

"Not even a little? I mean, he looked after your brother a hell of a lot..."

"And so did I." He didn't raise his voice, but the firmness of his tone made it feel like he did and Lestrade closed his mouth. "The people that John could have entangled with, given his association with my brother, makes this a matter of urgency and...I owe John for the times he has assisted me and was never reimbursed for his time."

"I see... all right, Mycroft, send me the details about this team of yours. Have a good night!" Lestrade said with a nod and left his side. He felt a sort of sad smile creep onto his face as he thought "This is just the way the Holmes show they care."

* * *

Molly retreated to her sanctuary...which just so happened to be filled with dead people. So, needless to say, no one would feel ignored if Molly were to take out her phone and check her messages. She went into the bag, shoved aside the more expensive phone and took out a cheaper, pay-as-you-go, phone.

1 Message Received

She smiled and opened her Inbox.

_How is he?_

No signature. Not surprising, he hadn't signed his text messages in years.

_Unconscious. They can't find what's keeping him out. No head trauma. No drugs. They're running further tests now. - Molly_

She sent the text and counted to five. Sure enough, her text message ring tone sang to her.

_Going to check it out. Keep an eye on him. D.A.R_

Molly rolled her eyes, but smiled as she did so.

_Of course and yes, I will DAR. Please keep me posted._

And with this her phone remained silent. She did as was asked and deleted after reading (DAR)

Molly returned upstairs after her shift was over and talked with , who was still seated next to John, but had taken up a pair of knitting needles and was knitting a scarf. It was for John, Molly was certain, as not only would that be the sort of thing Mrs. Hudson would do, but John had, in the past, frequently worn knitted attire. The two remained and chatted by his bed side till visiting hours were over. The two ladies then left, promising to meet sometime tomorrow and have some tea before coming back to the hospital.

* * *

Days came and went the doctors of St. Bart's were completely stumped as to how someone, with no head trauma and no drug usage, could have slipped into a coma like state. Test had concluded that was no cerebral hemorrhaging or aneurysm. Neck injuries had also tested and ruled out.

Mycroft, fearing that the doctors of St. Bart's were not held to a high enough standard, had his own set of medical professional come in for a second opinion.

Sadly, they too were at a loss as to what was keeping John Watson in his coma like state.

Days passed into weeks.

Eventually the visits became less and less from Mrs. Hudson, who was fearing the worst for her John, but she was sure that her collection of sweaters and scarfs would be finished for when him, should he wake up.

Molly, ever at the hospital, had made a point to peak in at least twice a day to check in on him.

On the fourth day of the third week, the guards placed outside the door were conversing with one other, both rather unsure about why there needed to be such security for a comatose patient when a nurse came running up to them.

"Can you please help?" she said slightly out of breathe

"What's the matter?" one of the officer detached from the door and walked up to her.

"There are two men fighting outside and it looks like they might actually hurt each other!" She waved for him to follow her as she spoke. The officer looked to his partner who gave him the nod just as the sound of a gun went off. Yelling and panic soon ensued as the two men bolted for the exit and were out of sight.

A few moments later Molly rounded the opposite corner walking hurriedly with a tall, spectacle wearing Doctor. His hair was pulled back into a short nub of a pony tail, but some of his straight hair seemed to escape. He was rather scruffy looking, his heard patchy in some places. The two walked up to the door of the hospital room and walked inside carefully.

When the door shut, the man besides Molly zipped like a bullet from a loaded gun and was besides John. He threw the covers off the man to expose the man, lying perfectly still, breathing calm and steady, in his hospital gown.

And there it was.

It was just one moment. One passing fleeting moment. It would have escaped anyone who wasn't paying attention.

Molly had a knack for paying attention.

The doctor had paused for a just a moment at the sight of the patient. He looked...the moment was gone and he began to exam him. Starting at his feet and working up.

Molly walked to the other side of the bed and gave him a look. She knew better than to speak. The look said "Anything?"

The man ignored the look for the time being, but soon the silence was broken when the phone began to ring besides the table.

The man seemed undeterred by it, but Molly looked concerned. The man noticed her look. It said "Who would be calling? She walked around the bed and took the phone off the receiver after it seemed like it refused to stop ringing.

"Hello?" she asked timidly and at this the man looked at her from the corner of his eye.

Molly was silent for a moment, listening to the words of the caller, before handing over the phone to the man. The look on her face told him everything and, placing a glove over one of his hands, he grabbed the phone and placed it to his ear. He said nothing. He didn't need to.

"I've taken the liberty of running your brothers surveillance system on a loop of some past footage of . You should be more careful, " Male. Baritone. Russian Accent. Not trying to conceal the accent. Age between 35 - 45. Smoker.

"Who is this?" the man with the glasses finally spoke. His voice was calm, yet demanding.

"Didn't he tell you, ?..."

Molly had been holding her breathe, John slept undisturbed, the sounds of the hospital continued outside the door, the bustle of the streets below continued on.

In that moment, only heard this

"...that he'd burn the heart out of you?"


	3. Chapter 2

**AUTHORS NOTES**: Looks like I lied and actually finished this chapter a day ahead of schedule. Don't know if I'll be able to keep up this kind of momentum, but here's hoping. I apologize for some of the names being blank on the last chapters. For some reason, Fanfiction doesn't like when you don't place a space between Mr./Mrs./Miss and a persons last name. I also added just a tiny thing to the summary cause...well, that's what it will become eventually. As always, if you could please give me a review on this story, I would be greatly appreciative. Thanks for reading!

Summary: After The Fall, John seemingly disappears without a trace only to be found three years later. Sherlock knows the capabilities of the mind better than any man, but can he save a man from his own mind? Sherlock/John

**Triggers**

Chapter 2

The silence after the statement seemed to last forever. The spectacle doctors' face had twisted into an expression of anger and he clenched his hand into a tight fist along his side.

"You have 2 minutes before I turn off the loop on your brothers surveillance. I'd suggest running."

With this the man angrily placed the the receiver on the hook, quickly put the covers back on John and made his way towards the door. Molly followed after.

And with that the two walked out the exit, passing by two homeless individuals being driven apart by angry police officers. Molly let out a sigh.

"You did fine." the man next to her said. She smiled at his comment, but he didn't pay it any mind. "Go to the coffee shop. if anyone asks, tell them that you checked in on John and went out to lunch after. If they ask about me, which I doubt they will, tell them I received a call and departed before entering Johns room. Do you understand?"

"Yes...Yes, I got it."

The man hurried his pace and left Molly to go to the coffee shop alone, worry plastered across her face. The man had a similar look at times, but it was covered with extreme anger. He couldn't risk being exposed, not just yet, not when he was so close. The man on the other end of the phone; he had a clue about who he was. He had been following his trail for some time. This man hands were not nearly so clean as Moriarty's had been. In fact, he was fairly certain this man WAS Moriarty's hands.

* * *

After the shooting incident at the hospital, which happened between two homeless men and both had fled the scene before the cop cars could arrive, the days were quiet at St. Barts.

Two weeks later, on a very normal day, the P.A system sprung to life as the nearby church bells sounded the time as 3:15pm.

_"Miss Pink, you have a call at the front desk. Miss Pink, you have a call at the front desk."_

The phone beside his bed rang as Johns eyes, for the first time in many weeks, opened lazily.

Without a word, he rose himself into a sitting position and took the phone off it's receiver. John said nothing, but a voice rang from the other end of the line.

"Lazybones, sleepin' in the sun. How you 'spect to get your day's work done? You can't get your day's work done. Sleepin' in the noon day sun..."

* * *

5:15pm

"Where the hell did you say he was?!" Lestrade barked into his phone as he was pulling into the parking lot of St. Bart's. He rushed into a parking space and threw the door open, walking hastily to the door.

"No need for tones, Lestrade." Mycroft said pointedly from the other end of the receiver. "I thought my text was clear enough."

"_John awoke. Found on St. Bart roof. Do come when you have a moment_. Is not NEARLY enough information!"

"But it did answer your question." Lestrade could practically taste the smugness

"You want to be cute? Fine, I'll be cute too. WHY was he on the roof? After the gun incident, you had some of YOUR guys on guard duty and he ends up on the roof!?"

"Are you close?" Mycroft ask in a placid tone.

"I'm walking in the door now." he walked through and made his way to the elevator.

"Then I'll tell you when you arrive." there was a click and the line went dead.

Lestrade angrily shoved the phone back into his pocket as he stepped into he elevator and made his way up. Once the elevator door opened to his floor, he flew out and made his way through the halls, trying his best to not push any one out of the way as he walked. It had been weeks since John had been brought in, years since they had last spoken. Questions flooded him and then one very important question popped into his mind, had anyone called Mrs. Hudson? She would probably become hysterically angry if she wasn't informed as soon as possible.

As he thought about calling her and then a cab to pick her up, he arrived the door. He took a deep breathe and entered.

"John please..."

"I don't...I just can't believe you."

Lestrade came into the room and saw Mycroft standing next to John. Lestrade felt his shoulders give just a bit. It had been three years of worrying. Three years of assuming the worst. Three years of regretting for not doing more for John when he needed a friend the most. Then renewed hope after John had been found, only to be met with dred as John had fallen into a comatose like state. Now sitting in the bed, looking as alive as ever, John was speaking with Mycroft, looking as annoyed as he always did when speaking with the elder Holmes. He couldn't save Sherlock, but John was here, alive, and Lestrade couldn't help but feel he was being giving a second chance to be a better friend.

Just as he felt himself start to get a bit misty eyed, John turned to him.

"Evening Greg." John said with a smile, like no time at all had passed since they had last clapped eyes with each other.

Lestrades smile was big and genuine as he walked across the room and grabbed his hand, shaking it hard as he used his other hand to pat the same arm he grabbed "Good to have you back, John"

John tilted his head the way he always did before he was going to ask a question. "Back?"

"John please you've been..."

"Mycroft, this isn't funny anymore. Just tell me what's going on."

"Oh for Gods sake, where is a newspaper when I need one!" Mycroft cried with a roll of his eyes

Lestrade held up his hands "Whoah! Whoah! What's the matter?"

"Go on, John, tell him. Better yet, tell him how long Sherlock has been dead."

"Mycroft, what the hell?" Lestrade surprised by the curt way the oldest Holmes spoke "He just woke up!"

Mycroft tried go be gentle "You're in shock, John. You've experienced trauma and..."

"And three years of my life just up and vanished?! Is that what your trying to say?!"

Lestrade felt his mouth open, but when Johns words fully registered in his mind, he paused, his mouth hanging open for a moment. He closed his mouth and turned his head to John, giving him his fully attention.

"John...how long do you think you were out?"

John looked at Lestrade now. Look through his eyes searching for the answer. When nothing gave way in his eyes. Johns expression dropped and his voice grew still, the next words sounding very scared.

"Greg...you saw me last night, remember? We went to the pub. You showed me that video of Sherlock after Irene had drugged him. We shared old war and cop stories...right Greg?"

* * *

2 Hours Earlier

He hated wearing the shades. The hat wasn't nearly so bad, but the shades made it difficult to take in all the sites around him which made it hard to recall perfectly all the information he was gathering with his eyes.

He sat at a tiny coffee shop a few blocks from St. Bart's. He had grown bored of waiting for another message from the Russian accented smoker and had decided to do some recon work. A nearby church bell rang, sounding off that it was 3:15. People were, for the most part, at their day jobs, but the streets were still fairly crowded and he sat, sipping on his coffee, planning his next move.

Not too long after the bells chimmed, his phone rang.

He looked at the phone. The number read as Unlisted.

Very, very few had this number. Even fewer dared to actually call. None of them were Unlisted.

He picked up call and placed the phone next to his ear, speaking not a word.

"You've been hovering." Same man as before. Choice of words meant to sound as if irritated, tone suggest otherwise. Voice slightly echoed. Inside a building with high ceilings.

"Hello again" he spoke quickly and in a soft voice.

"You've been hovering, but I really don't mind." the man ignored his false pleasantries and continued on. "In fact, I have something to show you. Make your way to St. Bart's."

"And if I refuse?" the man dared to question

"Then I kill John from 200 yards away and you never know how I did it."

He quickly placed money down on the table and began walking. He began to calculate as he walked. 200 yards away, high ceilings, what was the wind velocity for today? Sun is currently slightly past the mid way point, meaning no glare on certain buildings. Where was Johns room located? Using this information he could deduce that a sniper could be set up to shot at...

"Did I say yards?" the voice on the phone broke through his thoughts "I meant miles."

"So you have someone to do the job for you then?" the man rounded a corner and St. Bart's came into view.

"Don't need...well, that would be spoiling things. Ah, there you are." the man looked around for any indication that he was being watched, but then pressed his voice to his ear when he heard a little click. He had been muted. A few seconds later, the voice returned.

"Someone else is about to make your famous fall."

The man then knew exactly where to look though the terror in his heart had pleaded against it, fearing what he might see. He turned his head quickly and looked, his eyes confirming what his heart didn't want to see.

John looked so calmed standing on the edge of the roof of St. Barts.

The voice on the other end of the line sounded like it was dripping in sadistic delight. "Feels a little like a role reversal, doesn't it?"

* * *

**AUTHORS NOTES**: I promise I'll try to make these chapters longer in the future. For now, this just felt like a great place to cap it. Thanks for reading and please consider reviewing!


	4. Chapter 3

**AUTHORS NOTES**: Hey there! So this is the pace I would like to keep; a new chapter every week. Which is what will probably be needed since there's a fair amount I want to write for this story. I'll try and keep this pace, but if work/life gets in the way, I apologize in advance. Please review if you would be so kind!

Summary: After The Fall, John seemingly disappears without a trace only to be found three years later. Sherlock knows the capabilities of the mind better than any man, but can he save a man from his own mind? Sherlock/John

**Triggers**

Chapter 3

The streets were still so lively as the terror that filled the mans heart had not stilled the residences of London around him. It took every ounce of will power to turn his head away. He looked around, calculating as he did so, his mind a whirl of information.

"There's no one out there." the voice in the phone spoke with almost a laugh after only a brief pause, as if he was letting the gravity of the situation sink in. "No "man in the dark", No "man on the grassy knoll". Take a look. Go on then. Take a really good look."

The man turned his head back to John. "Can you see his face from there? Can you see how calm he is?" The man was right, he was almost too calm considering how even the tiniest gust of wind could probably send him over. He felt a panic try and come over him, but he mentally steeled himself and pushed his fear back down. "John's up there because..."

There was pause. This man had worked for Moriarty all right; he needed to make a performance out of this just as Moriarty had done with his own stunts.

"...he wants to be, Sherlock." another long pause. "You have three minutes to get to the roof."

There was click and the line went dead. The man known as Sherlock ran. He knew the layout of St. Barts and he let his mind guide him through all the fire stairs, the less crowded hallways, the areas without security cameras, but other than the map in his head, there was not much other thinking taking place. Just the map and a single thought: 'Please. Please don't.'

When he made it to the door leading to the roof, he stopped himself from bursting through the door. John was on the ledge; he could be startled and accidentally fall.

He opened the door slowly and looked out, clenching his left fist tightly to stop himself from shaking. John didn't even turn around as the sound of the door opening and footsteps appeared from behind him. He was still, calm, his blue hospital gown blowing gently in the afternoon wind. The sun was shinning directly on him and his hair was gold.

"Looks like an angel, doesn't he?"

Sherlock broke out of his thoughts and looked around. The same Russian voice was coming from somewhere; a phone planted somewhere on the roof.

"Positively radiant right now. You told him once..." Sherlock now realized that the voice was coming from Johns direction. "...you said to him "You've never been the most luminous of people, but as a conductor of light, you are unbeatable", but look at him. At this moment he's glowing! But then again, most people do have a sort of a glow when they are about to die."

"Enough" Sherlock cut in abruptly, making his way slowly to John "I'm here, tell me what you want?"

There was a pause and then John turned around. Sherlock felt himself instinctually raises his hands to pull him down from the ledge, but then stopped, worried about what would happen should he interfere.

He looked so composed, it was almost frightening. It had been so long since they had seen one another and John was looking at him blankly, as if John knew he had not killed himself that day on the roof...

This wasn't right. His expression said it all. This is not the John he knew.

"Drugged." Sherlock spoke after what felt like a small life time.

"Please, I think I deserve a little more credit than that." There was another tiny pause as John almost lazily went in the one pocket of his hospital gown and took out a phone. It was during this turn that Sherlock had been able to catch a glimpse of the ear piece that was in Johns ear. He took off his shades, angry at himself for not seeing it sooner. John had something else in his pocket and judging by the weight of it in his pocket, he knew what it was. Taking the phone, John held it out for Sherlock.

"Don't." said the Russian voice. Sherlock stopped, he had been reaching to take the phone when the voice spoke.

"Again, I ask you; _what do you want?_" he asked in a tone that suggested he was doing his best to hold down his rage.

"Isn't it obvious?" said the voice on the phone. "This! This right here, Sherlock. This lovely situation where you realize that all the brain power in the world won't do you a lick of good if you can't stop your precious pet from doing himself in." Sherlock was silent. His mind was running at full speed. "And that's the hardest part, isn't it Sherlock? You wonder why people just can't think like you can. Why can't they just know what goes on in your head? Why can't you make them think like you? Why can't you make them DO what you want them to?"

"This is personal." Sherlock spoke after listening to the man on the phone. "If this was just about your employer you wouldn't be nearly so expressive, but listen to you. You sound like you lost something dear, something precious. This roof, this method, this idea, you did this to try and drive the knife in deeper. To make me realize why you had been hurt and what made you hurt. This isn't about me...it's about you...it's revenge for what I did to Moriarty."

There was a chuckle from the phone. "Well, that wasn't very hard to deduce. I was expecting so much more."

With this there was a small pause and John used his other hand to pull the weighted object from his pocket. It was his gun.

Sherlocks face grimaced even more as the gun was pointed towards him.

"No." said the voice from the phone. "No, I don't think I like this. Your face isn't quite right yet. Here, let's try this."

Another pause and Sherlock felt his heart leap into his throat, though his body didn't show it, as John opened his mouth and placed the gun inside.

"THERE! Much better and look at that face! THAT is the face I've been wanting to see."

"Don't do this." Sherlock said without really thinking which, for Sherlock, was quiet a feet, but he followed through with it. "Don't do this, John wasn't part of it. This was between Moriarty and myself so if you have a grudge to settle, settle it with me and be done with it!"

"Oh but Sherlock, would that be any fun? You love games. You love to be entertained. Not to be bored..." there was a pause and John took the gun out of his mouth. Then, in one quick movement, he threw the phone as hard as he could across the city and the phone was soon gone from sight. Sherlock remained still, his fingers driving further into his hand as he made a fist. There may have been some blood from him doing this to himself, but Sherlock cared not for this.

Once John had finished, John placed the gun to the side of his head and stared directly at Sherlock.

"What would you like me, to make him say next?" John spoke. His voice only sounding slightly horse from lack of use. Sherlock was clenching down hard on his teeth. "I can stop John Watson..."

"Enough." Sherlock spoke angrily through his teeth. "You're reciting words spoken in the past, like this is some play and you've memorized all the lines, but I'm bored of this. Now, TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT."

"I was there that night, you know." He said and waited for Sherlock to respond. When he did not, he continued. "I was there that night at the pool. I was one of the ones that had a gun trained on your heart...or rather, the place where you said there was no heart. He was having so much fun and I envied him for that. Now I want to have a bit of my own fun." There was another polite pause for a possible interruption and when no such interruption came, he continued. "There are seven, Sherlock. This is the first one, but since the game hasn't officially started yet, I'll be using this one again."

"Seven what?" Sherlock ventured

The question was ignored. "I advise getting to work before they are used or bad things will happen, Sherlock. Very bad things."

"_**SEVEN WHAT?**_" Sherlock cried angrily

"Sherlock, you're clever..." as John said this he took the gun and chuck it to Sherlock, who, not expecting that to happen, caught it clumsily as John reached for the ear piece. "...figure it out"

He delayed for just a moment, his hand still besides his ear, but then John took the ear piece out. At this John's eyes suddenly rolled back and his knees gave out. Seconds felt like small eternities as Sherlock watched John start to fall back. In a heart beat Sherlock had leaped out and grabbed him, saving him from falling off the building, but not saving the head set piece that fell out of Johns hands and over the ledge. Sherlock hurriedly yanked John, with strength he didn't know he had, away from the ledge and only when they were a safe distance away, did he crumble to the ground, John crashing into his chest as he did.

"John, JOHN!" He quickly shoved the gun into his pocket and then moved to check for injuries. There were none. He looked around, his mind racing. He held on to John tightly, who slept soundly, as Sherlocks anger for the situation mounted. He knew he couldn't stay. He knew he couldn't break his cover. Not yet. He looked to John. What if he didn't break his cover? What if he wasn't around and John found himself in another situation, this time without Sherlock to stop him...

Sherlock got up and gently placed John on his back. He then took a moment to really look at John. This wasn't the way things were supposed to be...

Abruptly he stood up and made his way out the door, pulling his cell phone out as he walked towards the exit of the building.

_John is on the roof of St. Barts. Get him down._

The first text was sent off and then another was sent.

_There is a white ear piece, approximately 7.6cm high by 2.5cm wide, somewhere on the street in front of St. Barts. Gather whoever you can and find it. Now._

When he finished with the text he snapped the phone off and walked with purpose out the door and onto the street.

He liked games. He hated to feel bored. This is the first real challenge he's had in such a long time.

He thought and deduced and analyzed, but there was a nagging question in his brain.

Why wasn't he enjoying this?

* * *

5:43pm

John held a magazine in his hand as Mrs. Hudson rubbed his arm. He had made someone bring in anything that had a date on it. Now he held it limply in his hands, the reality of the situation sinking in. Mrs. Hudson had walked into the room carrying bags of knitted jumpers, scarves, and gloves, but all those had been abandoned in a heart beat when she saw John, burst into tears, and ran over to hung him. Kissing his forehead once before stroking his head and speaking tear choked jibberish. John couldn't help but laugh as Lestrade had to remind her that he was a head trauma patient and grabbing his head, even if it was to embrace him, was probably not the best idea. She released him as Lestrade grabbed a chair and pulled it next to Johns bed. Mrs. Hudson had taken it and pulled it even closer, while she began to unload questions onto to John, Lestrade grabbing her bags and placing it by her feet as she did so. When John could not answer , Mycroft thought it best to finally pipe in.

After Mycroft explained the situation and some words from the doctors that spoke of memory lapses in head trauma victims, John had fallen silent and was staring at the magazine cover with a blank expression.

"Don't worry, love. Remember, the doctor said this sort of things happens a lot to head cases. I'm sure your memory will come back when you least suspect it."

John smiled as best he could and looked up at . She was so happy to have him back, her face said it all, so he tried his best to look pleased.

"John." Mycroft, who had tucked himself into a corner next to Lestrade spoke up "Are you absolutely certain that..."

"I'm sorry, Mycroft." he said tilting his gaze to him. "I really don't know how I got onto the roof."

"Clearly you walked there." Mycroft began as Lestrade gave him a cold, questioning look. Mycroft rolled his eyes and ignored the look "You've been in the hospital for weeks, your legs are suffering from muscle atrophy. How did manage to make it up the stairs?"

"What about your guards?" Lestrade piped in "How did he leave the room without them knowing?"

"Mrs. Hudson." Mycroft seemed to ignore Lestrades question. "I have some matters to discuss with these gentlemen, would you do John a service and fetch him a cup of tea?"

Mrs. Hudson looked a little worried to leave Johns side, but John pipped in "Actually, a cup of tea sounds wonderful."

At this Mrs. Hudson smiled and stood. She made her way out and closed the door ever so gently. Once she had exited, Mycroft continued on by answering Lestrades question.

"Security footage showed that John had actually climbed out the window and walked out the door of the next room over."

Though Mycroft did not seem impressed by this, John and Lestrade seemed dumbfounded.

"I...climbed out the window?" John said in shock

"I do believe I said that." Mycroft replied, smug as ever. When his answer was only met with disgruntled expressions, Mycroft continued on. "You awoke at 3:15 as the phone next to your bed rang. You picked it up, said nothing, and then proceeded to walk out of the bed, open the window, and climb onto the ledge and into the next room."

"And you didn't alert your men to this?" Lestrade asked as John tried to process this information.

"We tried. Apparently the same hack that came over our system 3 years ago was used again to cut the connection to my men. We are still trying to keep this as quiet as humanly possibly, so while men were dispatched to handle the situation, Molly was contacted to tell them what had happened."

"And then I walked to the roof?" John asked in a disbelieving tone.

"Yes. They found you, 15 minutes later, lying on the roof. A stretcher brought you down and you then you woke up 10 minutes later." Mycroft finished his story as he took out his phone and texted.

_Are you going to tell me what happened? - MH_

"I could have died..." John said, still processing this information.

"Indeed." Mycroft replied, snapping his phone off. "It is a very good thing that you prompted yourself to stop before reaching the ledge."

"This doesn't make any sense." John shook his head "You said so yourself, I'm suffering from muscle atrophy. I'm a doctor, I know what that entails. There is NO WAY I could have walked let alone climb out a window and into the next room."

Mycroft took a breathe "I wish I could make an argument to the contrary, considering that it goes against all logic, but after viewing the footage myself, I can't dispute it."

John looked at his legs for a moment before, in a swift motion, throwing the covers off and turning himself so his feet dangled off the floor. Lestrade moved to stop him, but Mycroft placed an arm on his shoulder.

"John, wait!" Lestrade began

"Let him do it, Lestrade" Mycroft intervened

"He's going to hurt himself!" Lestrade cried as he quickly shift himself out of Mycrofts hold on his shoulder.

"It's an experiment." John said as he grabbed the side railing of his bed and placed his feet on the ground.

Both Mycroft and Lestrade were simultaneously taken aback by the way John had spoken; he sounded just like Sherlock.

John took a deep breathe and gently began to push himself off the ground. He flight his muscles tighten, his grip on the bar grew stronger (for fear of falling), as his legs took on the weight of his body. He waited.

Nothing.

He slowly let go of the bar.

There he stood, his legs taking his weight as if there was nothing amiss. He took a step, then another, and then another till he stood directly in front of Lestrade and Mycroft.

"How in the..." Lestrade said absentmindedly as he watched John walk.

"Look. I can walk...I'm walking like there's nothing wrong." he jumped. He jumped several times. "I can jump! Look I'm jumping like a school boy, and my leg." he patted his previously limp leg "Not a bit of the limp! When he died, the limp started to come back, but look! Not a trace of this." He had been laughing as he spoke, but not a happy laugh. It was the kind of laugh a man makes when he's trying to hide that he's afraid. He stopped jumping, stared for several moments at his steady legs, and then looked up with a stern expression he had, no doubt, acquired during his time in the military. "What the hell is going on with me?"

Mycroft, for the first time in so long, shook his head genuinely apologetic and spoke "I don't know John."

With this, John, not wanting to show his fear, turned sharply and went back into the bed. He crawled back under the covers and sat up. "When will I be discharged?

Lestrade shook his head of the disbelieve and spoke "Umm...right! Well I can only assume that the doctors will want to see this most recent developement, maybe run a few tests to be sure..." he looked to Mycroft as he said this. He nodded and Lestrade continued. "and then we'll go from there."

"Right, good." said with a nod, his face still stern.

"Lestrade and I will be leaving now. If there's anything else you need, please don't hesitate to call." with this he walked towards the door as Lestrade hestitaly went to follow, grabbing his coat as he did so. "And John, if you happen to remember anything..." Mycroft began

"I'll call, I promise." John finished for him.

"Good. Goodnight, John." With this Mycroft exited the room.

"Don't worry John, we'll figure this out all right?" Lestrade said with an earnest smile.

Greg was a good friend. He honestly meant to help him, John knew this. He nodded and gave a true smile. "Thank you Greg."

"Rest easy, John." he waved as he left

Perfectly timed was his exit as Mrs. Hudson had collected a cup of tea and Molly and was walking into the room.

"Leaving so soon?" Mrs. Hudson asked, cup of tea steaming in her hand.

"Yea, sorry Mrs. Hudson, Molly, have some business to attend to." Lestrade looked to Mycroft, who was typing away on his phone.

_He can walk. Better then when he walked with you. Are you going to tell me what happened or do I have to come over there? - MH_

Mycroft pushed his phone back into his pocket as Lestrade excused himself from the passing ladies and run up besides Mycroft. The two began to walk.

"Now what?" Lestade asked, ringing his hand through his hair and taking a deep breathe in and a long exhale out "I've never seen anything like that."

"Neither have I." Mycroft stated "I'll get a team of doctors to run some last tests and try and get him discharged as quick as humanly possible."

"What about after he's released? Where will he go then?" Lestrade asked, with a worried expression on his face

"I'd like to take him into custody for a bit, but I doubt he will not let me keep him for too long. I made arrangements to keep the flat at Bakers Street. He can go back to it."

"Do you think he'll...well" Lestrade began, trying to pick his words carefully "Do you think he'll want to go back to Bakers Street? Before his disappearance, he was packing to move away."

"He'll have no choice in the matter. We have taken steps to make sure the highest security measures have been taken at the Bakers Street flat. Any other flat, at this time, would not be adequately prepared enough." Mycroft said without breaking his stride. His car had rolled up out front and the woman known only as Anthea stood besides it, texting away.

Lestrade looked at Mycroft pointedly "Mycroft, that's not really fair to John. He's been through a lot, and that flat might bring up memories he can't handle right now."

Mycroft looked at him crossly "His psychological well being is none of my concern. I am making sure he is protected. I look to you, to help him...feel better." with this Anthea opened the door for Mycroft, who stepped inside. "Good evening, Detective Inspector." with this, and before Lestrade could say his oen parting words, Antea closed the door, walked to the other side of the car, got on, and the car drove away, leaving Lestrade alone with his thoughts.

* * *

After a week of testing, the doctors, baffled by Johns speedy recovery, could find no reason to keep him, and John was discharged from the hospital. Normally John would have been ecstatic to be deemed a healthy man, but the fear of why he was so healthy, along with the fact that Mycroft had taken custody for his well being for the time being, made him fairly agitated. Guards escorted him from the hospital and placed him in a car discreetly. They had somehow, probably due to Mycroft, miraculously avoided the press during this entire event and Mycroft was taking no chances. John sat in the back seat between two guards. He was on the shorter, tinier side for a man, but he was still uncomfortable next to the two men in the back seat. Soon they had arrived at Mycroft estate, which John had never had the pleasure of seeing. It looked as pretentious a he did, but that could have been the bittereness for the situation taking.

He was set up in the East wing of the estate with every comfort that could be afforded to him, but his freedom. For the purposes of protection, he was told not to leave the estate. he gritted his teeth and bared it. He had been told that the stay would be minimal and, for now, he would take Mycrofts word on it. Alone in the East Wing, John sat on a couch and looked absently at his leg. It didn't even slightly hurt. A pain that he saw returning after the death of Sherlock, had somehow susbsided and every part of it worried him.

Mycroft walked with purpose down the hall, down the steps, through the secret door, through the elevator, and into the room where a man sat, looking at an array of screens.

"How is he?" Mycroft said without glancing at the man the chair.

"Hm?" the man responded with an almost bored tone.

"John, how is he?" Mycroft repeated in an irritated matter.

"Oh, fine. Wondering about his psycosmatic limp. Worried about it. I don't blame him."

The screen that shows John in the East Wing, was ignored by the man. He was focused on the screen that showed John asleep in the hospital bed at St. Barts.

"Still reviewing the security footage?" Mycroft said dully "Before you ask, the phone bug was deactivated. We don't know what was told to him."

"Getting sloppy, eh Mycroft?" the man sounded like he was smiling as he said it.

"Very funny. What can you make of it, Sherlock?" Mycroft said as he came around from behind Sherlocks chair to stand next to him.

"The Churchill ringing, the courtesy call, and then the phone." Sherlock had his hands folded and he was staring intently at the screen. "All auditory stimuli. John wasn't sleepwalking, he was triggered."

* * *

**AUTHORS NOTES**: Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! I noticed that my chapters were rather short so I decided to rectify it with this chapter. Too long? Too short? Let me know with a review! Reviews always help (positive or constructive crit wise.)


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